


Shadow

by shemlentrash (Jess_X)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-10
Updated: 2013-06-10
Packaged: 2017-12-14 13:29:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/837401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jess_X/pseuds/shemlentrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr. Lecter has few qualms about how loose Will becomes under the influence of the drug he's given him to help him forget what he's seen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadow

**Author's Note:**

> It's been about a year since I've written anything AT ALL. I'm sorry about all my abandoned fics, guys. I promise I'll get back to them eventually, I just don't know when. So here, take this oneshot as a token of my apologies - and who even knows if I did a good job, but at least I wrote SOMETHING.

Will’s mouth was damp with spit and sweat. His hair stuck to his skin like plaster and in the heat of his fit he trembled, knuckles pale on the slender arm of the couch on which he sat. His knees felt very far away - like he was seeing them through a misty window while the rest of him was hurtled backwards, further and further from his seat. Though he could tell he hadn’t moved, he knew he was flying, that his legs were made of jelly, and his hands were not attached to him anymore.

So when he started to scratch at his face, he could not stop it. He could not even tell if it was even happening, or if the pressure on his cheeks was just tears. Was he even crying? He could see the faded denim of his jeans and the leather of his boaters, but he could not feel the damp plaid against his chest, and he was – without fail – a wreck of a man, heart racing somewhere outside his ears, breath rattling like thunder in some vacuum inside his conscious thought but not in any physical body, for he was outside himself. Lost.

“Will.” The word was distant and foreign to him, as was the grip pulling his own hands away from his face. “Will. Come back to me, Will. It’s 1:02 in the afternoon. Your name is Will Graham. Do you know where you are?”

Voices. Speech. “I…” Feeling the vibration of the thing forced from his lungs brought something crashing back to him - the solidity of the cushion beneath him, and the hand now at his forearm. Whose hand was that, anyway? “I…”

“Will. Can you hear me?” The voice was low, soft and rugged like an old engine kept well oiled. Trusty. Safe.

“I can hear you.” But barely. Reality was slipping away. His flesh burned where the other man touched him, and he was afraid to look for fear that he would actually see fire bubbling beneath the strong fingers. He kept his eyes firmly locked onto his trembling thighs, hoping against hope that the fog between himself and his body would lift soon.

The hand moved ever so slightly. “Look at me.” Another hand was at his forehead, and Will found his whole body lurch back at the sudden closeness. “It’s alright, Will. Let me feel. Try to look at me. Try to stay here.” Though the touch to his head, cheek, and neck were warm - and though the voice was calm and gentle - he still felt uneasy about this man. He didn’t feel that the man would harm him, but he did feel – well, he couldn’t quite place it. It was like being a small animal trapped in a room with a predator. There was something dangerous about his sleek movements and rumbling accent. His whole presence screamed of silent death. “Look at me, Will. On your own. Come on. That’s it.”

Feeling rather like a lab rat, Will lifted his head. He found that although his shoulders were very stiff, his neck was surprisingly limp. It made things very hard. He felt like a doll at Lecter’s disposal.

Hannibal Lecter, yes – he remembered, now, as the face swam into view. “That’s it. Good.” Dr. Lecter smiled sternly His eyes were gleaming with interest. He lifted Will’s eyelids for a moment staring into each one in turn. “Now, what do you remember of the night?”

“I…”

“Will. What do you remember?” Dr. Lecter’s voice was more assertive now.

“The last thing I remember, I…” He looked around. “I was here, but…” Will blinked at the walls. “The sun was up. When did…?”

“That was some time ago. Can you recall anything else?” One of Dr. Lecter’s hands was on Will’s knee, and it made him feel hot inside, as though he was being pressed by some burning force, like the sun.

Flashes. Blood? Bone? Knives. A sense of familiarity and disgust. A smell. “Bits and…” He swallowed. “Pieces. Images, like… Did something…?”

“Shh, it’s alright, now. This will help with the clarity, and it should bring you back to me after it knocks you out.”

Will barely even noticed the needle in his arm. He sighed, and didn’t bother to wonder where Dr. Lecter had gotten the needle from anyway. He felt his whole body tense for a moment, and then release – like finally springing the cap off a jar too tightly shut.

Drugs, Will thought. He knew, and he didn’t care. His mind was still cloudy, but he could feel his body more clearly now. His body felt solid very suddenly, actually real, and he was entirely present for the first time in a long time. Yet his memory felt a hundred miles away. What had they just been talking about? How had he gotten here?

Exhaustion weighted down his arms like lead, without warning. “I feel…”

“Tired?”

“Yes.”

“That’s good. You need to sleep.” The fingers which felt the pulse at his neck were lean and strong. The skin of his palm was also warm, like the touch of a lover. In such a sleepy state, with all his senses overloaded with warm comforting ease, the hand seemed inviting. He leaned into it. He could feel Lecter sigh, almost exasperated. “Will,” he said, but the voice did not hold the same resolve Will had expected. It wasn’t rejection in his tone – it was surprised, unenthused acceptance, with a hint of amusement. As his mouth touched the calloused palm, Will expected more of a protest, but was met instead with a smirk and an even less resolute declaration of his name. “Will. You don’t want to start this.”

He could not talk, he realized. His tongue felt lazy. He closed his eyes, running his lips over the blue veins of Lecter’s tanned wrist. He emitted a faint “Mmm,” which appeared to spark something to snap in the gleaming cat eyes above him.

The doctor positively growled. Something predatory emerged – or had it been there all along? The hand already at Will’s face then slid into his hair and tugged, the fingers burying deep at the roots of the brown curls.

Will may have described the feeling of being roughly kissed by Dr. Lecter as “numb,” if he could think at all to describe it. He could feel all of it at once with perfect clarity, the sensation of the thin lips and the thick tongue, yet his mind felt strangely indifferent to it. It was a bizarre feeling, impossible to put words to, especially with the hot heavy tongue in his mouth. Lecter tasted salty and satisfying, and Will wanted more, for it was as though he were being made physically whole – becoming less alone, somehow. He leaned into him so that their mouths were crushed, and their lips and tongues became audible with one another as they sloppily tried to find a rhythm.

Lecter had Will pinned to the back of the couch – one hand keeping a firm grasp on his scalp and the other pushing him down at the shoulder. Lecter’s knee was pressed between Will’s legs, rubbing uncomfortably against the seam of his old jeans, forcing him motionless except for his hands, and those hands worked as best they could to touch the face of the beast.

“Will,” Lecter’s voice rumbled, and he seemed to shake above the man sweating bullets beneath him. Will shook his head and whined, reaching for the doctor’s face with his own greedy lips. Everything was spinning except for that grounding feeling of the warm body pushing against his, the hardening part against his hip and the teeth against his tongue when it darted out for a taste. It felt so good to be close to someone – a body that felt more real than his own at the moment. “Will,” came again, a breathy sound whispered into his waiting mouth. Will devoured the syllable hungrily and groaned, mustering all his efforts to push upward against the other set of hips.

Denim crushed against denim, and Dr. Lecter reached between them smoothly to calmly unbutton and unzip. Will fell still. His strength was really leaving him.

His vision was totally blurred now. Everything felt impossible. He had to be dreaming this encounter. There was no other explanation. Was this one of the hallucinations the psychiatrist had warned him about? Perhaps. But even if it was, he had no control and he would not complain. It was certainly more pleasant than his previous hallucinations, he considered, as he felt the fabric of his briefs tugged down his thighs and a slight erection hit the air. Warm flesh collided with his, and he gasped aloud. He didn’t even bother to look down. The eyes holding his steadfast were too hypnotic to avoid – like an animal daring its prey to run.

There was a faint ringing in his ears. It was like being held underwater, and all he could really hear clearly was his breathing and his strong heartbeat. The breath on his face told him he was not the only one of them panting so heavily. “Mmm,” Will groaned, reveling in the hot skin of another man’s cock rubbing against his. The sensations were so unfamiliar, yet like something out of a lost memory. Comforting yet somehow dangerous, it felt, and he couldn’t get enough of it. Hannibal’s hard body seemed to work like an antidote for his dizziness and nausea, though the rest of him still felt useless, like wearing skin that was too large for him. He couldn’t control hos movements He could not speak or see well, and he still felt as though he had fluff in his ears.

“Down, Will. Let me take care of you. Let me…”

He was dragged down, off the couch and onto the floor. His knees hit the carpet, and the cushioned sofa became his backrest. Looking up at the doctor above him, he felt helpless. It was impossible to not feel equally cared for and endangered beneath that twisted Cheshire grin. He might have felt frightened, and maybe would have even realized that something wrong was happening, if he had been remotely coherent. But in his state, it didn’t feel wrong. It just felt nice.

Nice. So nice. “Mmm,” he purred again. Nice and powerless.

“Open, Will. That’s it.” Will’s jaw dropped obediently, and the cock began to nudge his lips almost instantaneously. He let it happen, drooling a significant amount down his front as the head pressed under his teeth to caress the flat surface of his tongue. He slurped it down with a sort of moan, and barely heard Lector’s relieved sigh overhead.

If he had looked up – and if he could see better – he would have seen Hannibal Lecter’s guard drop for a second, his fingers running through his own hair and his cheeks going flush with pleasure. It was a sight to behold, for so rarely did the predatory doctor let himself go – but with someone he might actually care for, someone worth keeping around for his own selfish reasons, it was conceivable.

That is the story of how Will Graham’s mouth brought the sly doctor to a whimper, and had him almost keeling over. It is a thing Hannibal was very glad no one would live to remember. When the moment of weakness passed, he growled, held himself steady on the back of the sofa, and gave in. Will’s jaw felt torn off its hinges. Lecter plowed his throat as a toy for his use, knowing the chemical in the poor man’s veins would loosen every muscle in his body and numb him over, making this easier for him. “Good, Will. Good.” He stroked Will’s cheek as he fucked his face, harder and harder with every thrust. His grunts and sputters were almost as gorgeous to Hannibal as the sounds of death.

He held Will’s face steady, using the thick curls like short reigns, and stopped his thrusting. He watched the man’s consciousness flit back and forth between present and disappeared while his cock remained buried in the back of his wet throat. His eyelids drooped and reopened, and his limbs fell still between blinks. “That’s a good boy, Will.” His voice was strained with the effort of staving off orgasm for another second. “You’ve been of great assistance to me tonight. I’m almost sorry you won’t remember.”

Will’s nostrils flared. He was having trouble breathing. His fingers started instinctively twitching. It was pitiful, beautiful, and fascinating. Hannibal snarled, and the sight of Will’s lids finally fluttering closed sent him reeling. He came in a hot, uncontrollable burst of light.

It had been a while since he’d last bothered for company in the matter of pleasure, but he was glad he’d taken advantage of this situation. There was something so satisfying about seeing his semen drip down Will’s chin and feel himself pulsing at the back of a live person’s tongue. It was so hot, so wet, so comforting. He felt – for just a minute – like a real human being.

Then the rapid heartbeat slowed, the moment passed, and he jerked back, forcing himself out of the calm sea of sensation. Hannibal stared down at his mess with an expression of slight amusement. It might have been mistaken for shame if someone had been watching and didn’t know any better.

It took another minute before Hannibal could gather his bearings enough to redress Will’s bottom half as well as his own. He took a tissue to Will’s face as the semen bubbled down his face and clotted his light beard. “There, there,” he cooed, checking Will’s eyes when he was done, to make sure he was really asleep. “I’ve got you.”

Hannibal drove him home and cleaned Will’s snoring, unconscious body with extreme care. He bathed him, humming all the while and fighting the desire to break his weaker counterpart. But it would have been like snapping the neck of a dying animal. Useless. Tragic. He could not hurt his own pet that way. Not now. No time soon. Will was his, and only his. With strong, protective hands, he tucked the drugged man into bed, and kissed his forehead. He smelled of soap.

In the morning, Will had no recollection of what had transpired the day before. He’d never know that he’d seen Dr. Lecter chopping up an arm, nor that he’d been drugged so thoroughly. The next day, Will trembled in Dr. Lecter’s office, in the very spot where he’d dribbled Lecter’s semen the night before. He cringed and wrung his hands over how much time he had lost from this seizure.

Dr. Lecter, all cool smiles and warm sympathetic eyes, was there to listen, and gently encourage hope through the dark times - more of which were sure to come. A weakened rabbit caught in a dangerous and deadly trap, Will could not escape the shadow haunting him. Hannibal wondered whether or not the day would ever come, when Will would discover whose shadow it really was.


End file.
